Then She Vanished

Twenty-Eight

Memorial Day morning. Tola Strait opened one of the Nectar Barn safes, entered a second code on her phone, and waited for the go-ahead. A two-combination Outlaw — a hard code to get it open and a cell code to disarm the interior alarm sensors. A moment later she set the two handguns on the safe top, then turned and looked at me.

“Thank you for taking this little job. You must be very busy with all the violence in the world.”

“I don’t love the idea of you moving a hundred thousand dollars in cash from one place to another.”

“The Strait Shooters are terrific but today I wanted you. Sometimes a girl needs a different kind of company. But you’re not cheap, my friend.”

“Not for this kind of thing.”

“Have you ever killed a man? In work, I mean, not war.”

I nodded and caught the hard approval on her face.

“Well, none of that today!”

“Do the Strait Shooters know about this?” I asked. Holdups of the kind I feared are often inside jobs.

“Yes, and I trust them with my life. And yours.”

Our destination for Tola’s dope loot was the California side of Buena Vista, a small town split roughly in two by the U.S.-Mexico border. I had my suspicions about the Buena Vista Credit Union. For one thing, it didn’t show up on my Internet search. For another, why would it be open on a national holiday?

But with a hundred thousand dollars under my watch, I wore my Gold Cup in its paddle holster in the small of my back, and a .410/.357 ankle cannon, deadly, small, and smooth. I thought back to Friday and how well I had shot with Mike Lark at Duffytown. But everything changes when your target is firing back at you.

We loaded the bundles of cash into two large rolling suitcases made of some textile that resembled stamped leather. They were light and probably strong and looked like Mexican saddles — handsome and ornate.

“Cold feet?” she asked.

“I get sullen on Memorial Day.”

“I know that feeling.”

“How do you know it?”

“I’m an East County Strait. We like big hats and big emotions.”

I couldn’t argue that and didn’t try.

We loaded the two suitcases into the back seat of my truck, exactly $50,000 in each heavy piece. On the passenger seat she set a stubby coach gun I recognized — a Charles Daly Honcho 12 gauge — three very short barrels and a pistol grip. For bad guys after the strongbox. Sling swivels fore and aft, easily concealable under a coat. Designed for short-range killing. Tola high-fived me and kissed me on the cheek.

“There won’t be trouble,” she said. “But the possibility makes me feel alive.”

I held open the door and watched her climb in. Jeans and red cowboy boots, a tucked-in snap-button satin blouse the same green as her eyes. Red bangs and a ponytail under a big straw Stetson.

“Here we go, Rolando!”

From Julian we headed south through the mountains of Cleveland National Forest to Interstate 8, then east into the boulder-piled mountains where I’d called on Virgil Strait and for the first time laid eyes on Tola. We climbed up the steep curves and switchbacks, from San Diego County to Imperial County then back to San Diego again. The temperature rose with our long descent and the interstate flattened into the desert.

Back straight, hat tilted off her forehead, facing the bright day outside her window, Tola set a hand on my knee.

“It seems so long since I’ve done something happy and simple,” she said. “I claw all day to make money. After work I catch my buzzes, maybe hang with friends, usually stay home and read a book before bed. Watch something. It’s harder being legal. Mostly legal. Back in the good old days, everything you did could get you prison time. Or worse. An adrenaline high from dawn to dusk. I saw some people go down bad and I always figured I was next. But now I’m legal. Somewhat. I can enjoy this drive and not even miss my morning dose. I can enjoy my company.”

“You still have a sawed-off shotgun in easy reach,” I said.

She gave me a smile and I saw Justine as I’d seen her for the very first time, at a dismal county-employee holiday party at the downtown Hyatt. One smile that changed two lives. I wanted to switch off my memory box but I wasn’t sure how. Or if I should. Justine vanished as if she’d read my thoughts.

“Tell me about Buena Vista Credit Union,” I said. “It didn’t turn up on my searches.”

“Just chartered last month,” said Tola. “I met one of the partners through Dalton.”

“The credit union will accept your money?”

“If it comes through a recognized Indian tribe. I loan the Nectar Barn cash to certain of Granddad’s native friends. They repay the loan to my accounts with my own cash — after taking a handsome percentage. The CU will take a handsome percentage, too. I’m an LLC so my accounts are all business banking, and the words Nectar Barn appear nowhere on the docs. At last, Tola can pay her taxes. Indians happy, governments happy. Everyone wins. A little curvy but technically legal. A state regulator for the southern district is helping us… well, understand the rules.”

Crag Face himself, I thought, Lark’s man, waiting for Tola to offer him a bribe to look away.

“What about the feds?” I asked.

“Buena Vista Credit Union doesn’t belong to the Federal Reserve. Thus, open today. And it’s regulated by the California Department of Business Oversight. Which is where my regulator friend comes in.”

“Friend.”

“More like a counselor.”

“Do you trust him?”

Tola gave me a matter-of-fact look. “So far. I have to, Roland. All this legalized marijuana business is shadow land. So many things are new and unwritten. The law contradicts the law. Talk about chaos. Trust is all you’ve really got.”

“I fear for you.”

“Why? What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know there are DEA and FBI investigators all over the country looking for ways to bust the pot market big boys. Of which you are one.”

“Don’t call me a boy,” Tola said. “And I’m more than aware of that. I have good instincts about whom to trust. They’ve kept me alive for thirty years.”

“Smart people are the easiest to fool.”

“They think they’re too smart to fail?”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’ve considered every facet of my business, every which way,” she said. “Then I’ve thought it around, over, under, and back again. It’s going to work. Everyone is ready and everything is in place. Every ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed. Now I just have to trust me. That I put it together right. That it’s absolutely going to work.”

“Are you expecting your regulator friend to be present today?” I asked.

“Why are you so interested in him?”

“Maybe I’m helping you dot an ‘i.’”

“No. He won’t get near this until he wants something.”

“What’s he after?”

“He has a foundation that he claims does noble work for American Natives. He’s let me know about it. No solicitation yet. I know he needs money. I know his marriage is falling apart and he’s drinking hard and fast.”

“Don’t offer.”

She lifted her sunglasses, gave me another searching look, but said nothing. Then pulled her hat down and looked back out the window.

Tola’s three Native American business partners — I found out later they were Cahuilla, Luiseño, and Kumeyaay Indians — were young men, casually dressed and helpful. At least two of them were armed. They carried the suitcases from my truck into a long-abandoned stucco home that stood inexplicably alone on Luiseño land.

A Mercedes Sprinter and an unmarked armored car waited on the broken concrete driveway, both facing the road. The armored car driver was barely visible through the bullet-resistant polycarbonate windshield. His partner waited in the shade of a paloverde tree with an open-sight AR-15 cradled in his arms.

In the living room, I stood behind Tola and watched the four of them sign documents. I could see that some of the papers already bore signatures and notary stamps, now being falsified to anyone who cared.

All of the players seemed to know just what to do, so there was little discussion, and little small talk, either. The Chaos Committee was mentioned — no bomb today but one man had heard of another peace officer being shot, this time in San Bernardino. Virgil and Kirby were referenced, briefly. Dalton, of course. And the new Nectar Barn being built near the Sycuan Casino. A sense of grave accomplishment seemed to hover in the room. A fence lizard appeared on a glassless windowsill, looked our way, did four push-ups, then wandered back out.

When the papers were signed and divided, two of the men rolled the suitcases onto the driveway and into the armored car.

Tola shook hands with each young man, then got into my truck and closed the door. The Sprinter led the armored car toward the road, tire dust drifting east.

Tola turned my face to hers, leaning in close. Her hand was surprisingly cool and her breath was warm.

“Follow the money,” she said. “My heart’s pounding right now, Roland. You’re my rock.”